


When It's All Too Much

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, One Shot, POV Leia Organa, Treat, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Leia’s never forgiven herself for letting Ransolm Casterfo - a man that she’d come to like and respect - go to his death. She hopes that she can somehow make amends by visiting his homeworld, but is shocked by what she finds.Set a year and a half after Star Wars: Bloodline.





	When It's All Too Much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



It had all become too much.

Luke, Ben, Han. The Resistance. The First Order, which was an increasing threat. It was all too much.

It was so much that Leia did something that she’d never done in her life: she ran away. Temporarily, of course.

She took the first ship to the first place that sounded like a good idea. It wasn’t a good idea, when she thought about it, but by that point they were in hyperspace and it was too late to get off.

She’d picked Riosa. She wasn’t sure why. No, that was a lie. She knew why: a year and a half previously, Ransolm Casterfo had been reported dead in an outbreak of flu while awaiting trial. She’d yet to properly forgive herself for letting him board that ship to Riosa; perhaps she could somehow compensate for that by making the pilgrimage to his resting place.

She arrived in the morning, took a room at the first decent hotel she came across, then set out with a singular goal. It took her the best part of an hour to navigate across the city, eventually arriving at a polished grey, windowless building.

An engraved sign informed her that she’d arrived at the Central Metropolitan Halls of Remembrance, the biggest on the planet. Riosans cremated their dead. In place of burial, they favoured library-like halls of urns. Visually, the place was intimidating, high-ceilinged and dimly lit. Yet, in reality, it had an air of peace and tranquility that Leia found extremely calming.

There was a desk, almost like a hotel reception, in front of the doors that led to the halls. Leia walked up to it, the woman behind it giving her a welcoming smile. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Ransolm Casterfo.” Saying that felt odd, as if he were still alive.

There was a flurry of typing. “Yes, his ashes are here. Is this your first time?”

“Yes, it is. I’m not quite sure of how this place works, actually.”

“I’ll print you the number, then. Should help you find it.”

“Thank you.”

There was a spurt of noise as a machine under the desk spat something out, which the woman collected. “It’s traditional to sign your name in there,” the woman said, pointing to a screen on a stand near the door. “Here’s the one you’re looking for.”

Leia thanked the woman, took the proffered plastic disk, and made her way over to the stand.

She signed her name as ‘Solo’, rather than her proper name, to avoid drawing attention to herself. She used travel documents with that name for the same reason. Unfortunately, people often recognised her anyway, but it reduced the chances.

Once she’d signed, she peered at the token the woman had given her. The cemetery was a hall of shelves and shelves, each pigeonhole containing a plaque, an urn of ashes, and a few mementos left my visitors. The number on the token denoted a room, wall, row, and space.

She set off to find it. The place was logically organised, at least, and it wasn’t long before she was standing in front of his urn.

The plaque was relatively plain and there were no trinkets or flowers, which made sense, but provoked in her a deep sadness. Even the urn was completely undecorated. Such a vibrant man, adored by his peers, now forgotten.

Except, on a closer look, she found that there was something there. A small metal cube, perfectly sized to fit into her palm when she picked it up. It could have been an ornament or a piece of junk; there was no way to tell if it had been put there intentionally or not. Looking around, it was singular - none of the other urns had one. She rotated the cube, looking for some clue as to what its purpose was. One face had a small button, which she pressed. When nothing happened, she sighed and replaced it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, regretful. “I didn’t bring you anything.”

She hesitated for a second, as if waiting for a reply. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Ransolm was in the middle of eating when his tablet started pinging. Rolling his eyes, he picked it up. He had to read the words on the screen several times before they fully sank in; when they did, he abandoned his meal mid-bite and made for the door.

It took him half an hour to reach the cemetery. He hadn’t seen the place since one morbid visit to see his own grave, but he remembered it well. He made straight for the visitor’s book - it was the only way to find out if anyone he knew had visited.

He scanned through it at lightning speed, hoping that whoever it was had been sentimental enough to leave their name. And that it had been someone he knew, rather than a stranger that had activated it by accident.

He got to the end of it without finding anything. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, he resolved to look over it one more time. He read each name closely that time, probing his memory. Then, about half-way through the list, he found what he was searching for: _L. Solo._

 

* * *

 

Later that day, as twilight was beginning to seep into night, Leia took a walk up the capital’s main street. It was busy at that time of day, but she felt cut off from every single person on the street. Her mind kept circling back to Ransolm’s empty shelf.

“Leia!”

At the sound of her name, she turned. The voice sounded familiar, but she didn’t recognise the speaker. He was tall, clad in tailored black clothes that accentuated his figure. In contrast, his hair and eyebrows were bleached white, and his eyes were unnaturally green. His nose seemed strangely long and sharp. A distinctive appearance. Certainly not someone she remembered. Unless she assumed that the hair and eyes were artificially coloured, and that the nose was prosthetic, in which case…

Her heart stopped. “Ransolm?”

His eyes were practically bubbling with eagerness, with excitement, but he maintained a calm countenance. “I’m sorry that I never contacted you. It was never safe to do so.”

It was surreal. Like talking to a ghost. “Yes… I can imagine.”

“Can we go somewhere? To talk?”

“I - of course.”

He led her to a nearby restaurant. It was half-full, enough people that their conversation would be lost amongst the babble, but few enough that their booth was secluded.

A droid took their order.

Leia steepled her fingers, rest her hands on the table. “I don’t understand all this.”

“Yes, it’s a long story.”

Leia waited, but he supplied no further details. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I was in prison - one specifically for political prisoners. There was an outbreak of Hesken Flu, which meant that a large group of us had to be hospitalised, even though it’s non-fatal. I ended up in a bed next to the leader of an anti-Centrist resistance group. He decided that I could be useful, so he took me with him when his colleagues broke him out of the hospital. They helped me with all the paperwork, too, so that I have a new legal identity.”

“That is quite a tall tale.”

She couldn’t understand why part of her was so resistant to this. Why she couldn’t take it in. Mentally, she berated herself for her ungratefulness; it was miracle, and part of her was ecstatic, but her brain wouldn’t comply.

Ransolm didn’t seem disheartened by her lack of reaction, at least. “Y’know, I never thought anyone would activate that cube. It’s been a year and a half, and… I think I stopped letting myself think about it a long time ago.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “You - never? Genuinely?”

“I have no family. My Centrist friends-” he enunciated the word with palpable bitterness. “Want nothing to do with the memory of me. I never, ever thought that anyone would ever come.”

She nodded mutely.

“I’m glad it was you, though. Whenever I envisioned this, it was always you.”

“You probably didn’t imagine it being this awkward,” Leia answered dryly, beginning to recover herself.

“No,” he acknowledged. “But sometimes that’s how it goes.”

It was at that moment that they were interrupted by the return of the droid. It placed their drinks on the table; Leia was relieved that she’d order something mildly alcoholic. She felt sorely in need.

“I’m sorry, Ransolm. It’s just that - well, I thought that you were dead. I saw it on the news, I believed it.”

His voice was gentle. It seemed that he could understand her emotions, even if she couldn’t. “You came to terms with it. Now you’re mentally reversing that. It’s a lot to take in.”

“You can say that again.” She shook her head slowly. “How did you find me, by the way?”

“I went to the cemetery and found your name in the list of visitor. Then I called a contact at the central immigration office - I’m working as a cultural advisor to a company here, so I communicate with them a fair bit - and got the address of your hotel.”

Her voice was still stiff, even as her mind began to come to terms with the situation. “I see.”

“Leia… I think it’s best if I give you some space, okay? We can meet again tomorrow. Same time, same place?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I need time to process this.”

“Alright, then.”

He stood, sliding his chair back, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Again, I apologise-”

“Don’t apologise,” she interrupted. She looked up at him with the beginnings of a smile. “You’re alive, Ransolm. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

He almost beamed at her. “And you’re here. That’s more that I could ever have asked for.”

She swatted his hand in an echo of her usual no-nonsense demeanor. “Get it together, Casterfo. A year and a half without me isn’t a reason to go and get soft.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pacing for this is bit off, because I wrote and published it fairly quickly. Apologies for that.


End file.
